


Submergence (Reprise)

by flowerdeluce



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Baptism, Comfort, Crying, First Kiss, M/M, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 14:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/pseuds/flowerdeluce
Summary: “Kevin Price,” McKinley said, and gosh, how intimate and thrilling it was hearing him say his full name in that soft, unhurried whisper, the only sound besides the distant trill of cicadas and the water lapping at the reeds. He took a gentle hold of Kevin’s wrist. “Do you wish to be baptised as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost?”
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	Submergence (Reprise)

**Author's Note:**

> *Arrives nine years late with forbidden Starbucks* 
> 
> The West End’s Adam Bailey and Stevie Webb are my Mormon boys. That probably doesn’t make any difference to this fic, but please forgive any contradictions in their typical fanfic appearance based on that.

Standing in the centre of the waterhole, shirt soaked up to his middle, Elder McKinley’s surroundings could’ve dwarfed him easily, washed his small frame aside with the battered flotsam gathered at the water’s edges. Some of the reeds stood taller than him; they threw long shadows over the murky surface as the sun slid towards a horizon that appeared to tremble in the heat. 

McKinley didn’t tremble. With arms outstretched, gaze fixed on Kevin, he looked like a mighty baobab tree: unshakable, strong, enduring. All that Kevin wasn’t.

Kevin took a tentative step into the greyish water, his white pants rolled up to just below his knees. He’d done this before of course, aged eight, back when his youth came with expectations of greatness. The water of his original baptism, confined within the grouted tiles of a precious font, was filtered and sanitary, blessed by the bishop as part of a polished ritual. Kitguli’s imperfect yet valuable nearest water source kept the villagers alive, washed their clothes and bodies, and one needed to walk almost a half mile to reach it. Using it to be rebaptised, Kevin thought, brought the experience closer to Christ’s in the Jordan or Joseph Smith’s in the Harmony. 

There was no audience this time. None of Kevin’s family and friends stood proudly at the side-lines in their best clothes, wiping happy tears with crisp, monogrammed handkerchiefs. Here beneath the orange glow of the setting Ugandan sun, there was only Kevin, Elder McKinley, and the Holy Ghost. 

Of course, the biggest difference was that Kevin wasn’t being baptised here as a Mormon. Despite his faith being shaken (cracked, shattered, then stuck back together with spit and Band-Aids), he still believed. Only now he believed in something more. 

The Book of Arnold’s instructions for baptism were almost identical to those Kevin followed when he was eight, though the Elders who’d stayed on in District Nine all agreed that if they were advocating for a new doctrine devised here on Ugandan soil, the ritual should be repeated upon it. 

Kevin requested solitude. He’d had enough of being looked at, being the source of admiration or admonition, being the centre of attention for reasons good and so very, very bad. If this was going to make everything better, there could be no distractions. To be closer to Heavenly Father, he wanted no pressure from anyone to be anything but devout.

But Elder McKinley’s gaze was upon him. So, naturally, Kevin felt pressure. 

The warm water did nothing to cool his nerves as he stepped toward where McKinley stood silhouetted against the sunset. His shirt buttoned up to his neck, Kevin wondered if his sweat had already soaked patches through the cotton, and how on earth McKinley looked so darn immaculate in his. 

“Kevin Price,” McKinley said, and gosh, how intimate and thrilling it was hearing him say his full name in that soft, unhurried whisper, the only sound besides the distant trill of cicadas and the water lapping at the reeds. He took a gentle hold of Kevin’s wrist. “Do you wish to be baptised as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost?”

Anxiety tightened Kevin’s chest. He drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, relaxing his shoulders and trying to ignore the sympathetic raise of McKinley’s eyebrows. He’d always been so full of confidence, almost theatrically so, and he knew the others had noticed the change in him since . . . 

“I—” 

How could he not manage two words? _I do_. He could’ve simply said _yes_ , too. But he was so incredibly, ridiculously nervous. What if he couldn’t live up to his best friend’s teachings or couldn’t prove himself worthy in the eyes of his fellow missionaries? They were already going hut to hut proselytizing and converting, helping people. They’d been baptised here together a week ago, while Kevin hid in his room, too afraid to face up to his failures – and the General, who’d now joined their ranks as a fellow soldier of the Church. 

That’s why this _had_ to work. That’s what baptisms did: they started one’s life anew. They offered a fresh start for a newer, better Kevin Price. 

McKinley rubbed Kevin’s wrist in reassurance, causing Kevin’s breath to stick in his throat. His thumb slid under Kevin’s shirt cuff, brushing sensitive skin. 

“We can try this again another time,” he whispered. “If you’re not ready.” 

Kevin rushed a “No!” before he paced himself, shaking his head and meeting McKinley’s eyes. “No, Elder. I’m sorry, I’m just, it’s just nerves. Really.” 

“I’m here for you,” McKinley said, voice calm and smooth. He squeezed Kevin’s wrist a little tighter. “You’ll be just fine, I know it. You’ll feel like a new man.” He smiled in the sunlight, and Kevin reached for that switch in his mind, the one he wasn’t supposed to touch anymore.

“I’m ready,” Kevin said, gulping in another one of those big, worried breaths.

Another reassuring squeeze from McKinley preceded him raising his hand and speaking the words drilled into them at the missionary training centre. Kevin always imagined himself repeating them in Orlando, hundreds of times, as he broke conversion records and was lauded the best Mormon Americans had seen since Joseph Smith. He barely deserved to hear them now.

“Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ,” McKinley began, speaking loud and clear to the barren land around them, “I baptise you, Kevin Price, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Bracing an arm against the small of Kevin’s back, he lowered his voice and asked, “Ready, Elder?” 

Kevin nodded, putting all his trust in McKinley’s steady hands as they guided him back against the water. He closed his eyes and let it immerse him, McKinley holding him tight as he plunged backwards. The water engulfed his senses, blocking out the sounds and sights of Africa, ready to transform him into that paragon of a better man, and . . . all Kevin felt were McKinley’s hands, one on his chest, the other at his back, and all he heard was his own gasp as he emerged, water streaming into his eyes as he staggered upright. 

“How do you feel?” McKinley asked, his blonde locks clinging to his forehead after receiving quite the drenching himself.

Kevin didn’t understand. He’d expected an instant fix, the touch of Heavenly Father’s holy blessing, the weight and guilt of everything lifting from his shoulders. 

“The same,” he said, honest in his surprise. 

His eyes stung, and he wasn’t sure if it was the water or because he was so bitterly disappointed. He’d worked himself up to this for days, gathering his tattered courage into something resembling determination. Baptisms were supposed to be beautiful, a moment shared between a Mormon and the Almighty. Perhaps that’s why it hadn’t worked. Elder Cunningham’s words were all made up, were all—

“Yeah, I did too,” McKinley said, equally crestfallen, and Kevin almost fell face-first into the water. “I just felt . . . wet.” He shrugged.

“But?”

“No, I know. It’s supposed to be this magical, incredible experience, right? But when you’ve already chosen to believe in here—” he touched Kevin’s chest, right above his heart “—there isn’t anything an _ocean_ of water could do to change your mind.” 

Kevin felt a chill creep over his soaked clothes as the horizon swallowed up the sun. “And what do we believe now, exactly?”

There’d been discussion about what the future held for them, them being the Mormons who’d stayed behind. They weren’t officially excommunicated, but they might as well have been. Some had been disowned by their families, and others were flagrantly ignoring the letters begging them to return home and repent the dishonour they’d brought their family name. 

What held them all together was Arnold, and the strong sense of community the villagers extended to those once uninvited guests who were now, for all intents and purposes, family. 

“Well,” McKinley said, fingertips still pressed to Kevin’s chest, “we believe _today_ is what’s important. The present. And helping make that present better for each other.” He smiled, and Kevin felt it warm him. “It isn’t going to be easy, Elder, but we’re all in this together.” His smile fell a little at Kevin’s blank expression. “Aren’t we?”

Kevin wanted to grab his collar and tell him that yes, of _course_ , but he was still afraid. He wasn’t used to feeling lost. The leader had become the follower, and he didn’t think he could lie to McKinley (or himself) by claiming he could do this. He couldn’t disappoint anyone again, be the weaker link. So he waded to the water’s edge, too ashamed to look McKinley in the eye. 

“Elder Price?” 

Kevin’s feet slipped out from under him and he tumbled onto the bank, hands slamming into the mud to break his fall. The water lapped at him as McKinley followed, making waves in the still pool as Kevin crawled to drier land. 

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, hoping to find some quicksand and get swallowed up by it. 

“What for?” McKinley asked, placing a cautious hand on Kevin’s shoulder. Water dripped from his white sleeves, and Kevin turned away sharply when he noticed that the rest of McKinley’s wet shirt had turned translucent.

Kevin pulled his knees up to his chest and hid his face in his lap. “I made you come all the way out here for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing, Elder.” He knelt beside Kevin on the mud and lifted his chin with a light touch. His focus was only Kevin, despite the stunning vista stretching before them, the water’s ripples sending flecks of the remaining sunlight dancing across his face. “You just proved you’re willing to stay, just like your brothers. They’re all proud of you. I’m proud of you.” 

Turning away, Kevin realised he was trembling. It wasn’t cold, but being soaked through did that. At least that’s what he told himself. The old Kevin Price would never allow himself to shiver with fear of the unknown, especially not in company. How low he’d sunk. 

He wiped his hands on his thighs, streaking the fabric with dirt. “What have I done to be proud of? I’m so scared. All the time.”

“Don’t you think we’re scared too?” McKinley’s voice was suddenly sharp and serious, his lips setting into a hard line. “We’re _terrified_.” 

“What?”

“Admitting you’re scared proves you’re no coward.” He held Kevin’s chin with his fingertips, stopping him from turning away again, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “Do you trust me?” 

Kevin nodded, balling his fists in an attempt to cease his trembling and keep the feelings inside.

“Then believe me. You’ve got this, Kevin Price. You’re stronger than you think. Stronger than I am.” 

Kevin couldn’t hold it in anymore. Emotion broke from him in a loud, messy sob. He fell against McKinley’s chest and cried, two sturdy arms circling his shoulders and holding him.

“There,” McKinley whispered, stroking Kevin’s nape with a steady hand. “Let it out.”

The release of a flood of tears, and allowing himself to be vulnerable and having someone understand—and not just anyone, _Elder McKinley_ —was cathartic. Kevin pulled a fistful of McKinley’s wet shirt into his fist and squeezed hard, sliding his other arm around his waist to cling to him. The physicality of holding him and being held was like finding an anchor after months of floating adrift on a turbulent sea. It calmed him, even though, pathetically, he couldn’t stop crying.

“I’m so sorry,” Kevin sobbed, voice cracking. “For everything.” Elder McKinley didn’t need this. He had bigger things to worry about right now, and holding a weak member of his district together at his poorly patched seams wasn’t one of them. 

Rubbing Kevin’s back, McKinley said plainly, “You’re forgiven.”

And . . . Kevin hadn’t expected that. He’d expected to feel awful about being such an inconvenience for the rest of the evening, possibly forever, and not just an inconvenience now, but since he’d first set foot on Ugandan soil. Elder McKinley said something so simple, straight from the heart, and Kevin believed it. The weight he’d been carrying floated off into the starlight as the night closed in around them and, for a moment, he was free to just . . . be.

Lifting his head from McKinley’s chest, Kevin saw through his teary vision how the moon’s blueish light on such a clear night made his companion’s white clothes appear to glow in the darkness. Elder McKinley really was beautiful, inside and out. Kind. Considerate. The picture of everything a follower of Arnold’s doctrine should be. And he’d forgiven Kevin everything.

“I feel it,” Kevin whispered, hardly able to tear his eyes from McKinley’s angelic presence.

McKinley’s hand still braced his neck, fingertips brushing along the edge of his soaked collar. “What do you feel, Elder?” he asked, voice as soft as falling rain.

Kevin swallowed. “Better.” That was an understatement, but he didn’t want to boast, to rub it into McKinley’s face how he felt blessed, absolved, and more than anything, ready to face whatever Heavenly Father threw at him with courage in his heart. “I feel, better.” 

“You do?” A smile quirked the corner of McKinley’s lips before they fell back into what looked like—when Kevin really looked—a frown, and a lonely one. 

Kevin felt compelled to make that smile return. Reaching out, he smoothed a hand over McKinley’s cheek, noticing a glimmer of wetness on his eyelashes that hadn’t been there before: he’d been crying too. 

“You’ll feel better too,” Kevin said, nodding as he said the words. “I promise.”

They were so close the warmth of McKinley’s breath washed against his cheek, and when he moved his hand down his neck, he felt his pulse tap rapidly against his palm. They were both shivering now, but Kevin didn’t feel like trying to hide it. He didn’t feel like hiding anything from McKinley ever again. His lights were well and truly switched on.

“We’re in this together,” Kevin said, echoing McKinley’s earlier words. He couldn’t help looking at McKinley’s parted lips, the way his wet, tightly buttoned shirt strained over his chest as his breaths quickened. 

They’d never been this close, and while Kevin’s heart was racing, his hands shaking, and he felt like he’d eaten a hundred butterflies, he didn’t want to move away to what he’d previously have considered an acceptable distance. 

Then, he was moving closer. McKinley was pulling him into him, their faces tipping at just the right angle for their lips to meet and . . . oh. 

McKinley gasped into the kiss, opening his mouth and clinging to Kevin as Kevin had to him mere moments ago. There was another release of tension then, for them both, and Kevin felt his every muscle weaken as McKinley went limp against him. The places where their bodies connected kindled small fires beneath his skin—McKinley’s fingers against his damp scalp, Kevin’s clawing at McKinley’s back. McKinley’s tongue was warm and wonderfully soft, gliding into his mouth and over his lips in a way that made Kevin’s toes curl with pleasure in the mud, a moan he hadn’t realised he’d been holding back sliding past McKinley’s lips and coaxing another in response. 

Moments of privacy were rare in District Nine. Rule #72 meant they seldom left their mission partners. But who was following the rules these days? They were being rewritten around them, the essence remaining but the execution altered. Regardless, Kevin didn’t want to waste another second with McKinley now he knew how precious those seconds could be. As the urgent kiss endured, he lowered them down onto the mud and onto their sides. 

Kevin gasped when McKinley’s palm slid down his chest, the pad of his thumb dragging over his nipple almost definitely on purpose. It felt good, no, _incredible_ , so he sucked the other man’s lip to show him just how much he liked it. That incredible thumb trailed lower, hooking in Kevin’s belt loop to pull him closer, encouraging him to roll on top of him. Kevin took McKinley’s hand instead, linking their fingers together. There’d be time for that later. For now, he had another (just as wonderful) idea. 

Drawing back, he thumbed McKinley’s knuckles and peered down at their linked hands. “Can we . . . try again?” 

McKinley leant in for another kiss, eyelids falling closed, until Kevin stopped him. 

“No, I mean.” He glanced at the waterhole. A grey mist crept across it, hovering over water that looked black and dangerous in the moonlight. 

“Another baptism?” McKinley chuckled. “Sure. Think it’ll do anything?” 

“It might, if we try it together.” 

McKinley’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t seem deterred by the idea. “That’s . . . not traditional.” 

Kevin smiled and gestured to their surroundings as if to say, is any of this?

McKinley didn’t need more persuading. He let Kevin take both his hands and lead him carefully from the bank back into the cooling water. The mist was refreshing, and as the water rippled around them, the reflected image of the stars warped and trembled on its surface like they’d stepped into a liquid mirror. Everything looked beautiful, perfect, but more importantly, they were together, eyes fixed on each other in determination. 

This time, Kevin was the one to ask, “Ready, Elder?” 

“I am.” McKinley squeezed Kevin’s hands tight, stepping forward until their chests almost touched. 

With a nod of _one, two, three_ , they both slipped under, holding tight to the other’s hands as the cool water enveloped them. They rose together, McKinley’s smile so wide it showed his teeth. 

“How do you feel?” they asked, laughing at asking the same question at the same time as they pressed their dripping foreheads together. 

They answered with another kiss, clinging to each other, hoping they never had to let go.


End file.
